


Of Gods and Men

by oneifby (orphan_account)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:18:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/oneifby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt, from <a href="http://captainmarvel.tumblr.com">captainmarvel</a>: “arya/gendry art school au where gendry is a sculpter/welder and arya is a dancer because HAVE YOU SEEN MAISIE BREAK IT DOWN THEY PROBABLY MEET AT A FLASHMOB OR S/T IDK AND THEN HAVE DUMB ATTEMPTS AT PRETENTIOUS DISCUSSIONS ABOUT ARTISTIC INTENT and then they make love i mean art together”<br/>Blame her for this. I do.<br/>So obviously Sansa and Jon are dancers too. Robb and Daenerys are artists. No one's related.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Gods and Men

**Author's Note:**

> British slang terms used and some Russian words!
> 
> Bloody: like really  
> Nosh: food, grub  
> Wanker: asshole, literally masturbator (also this month is National Masturbation Month buy someone you love some lube)  
> whinging: whining (who'da thunk)  
> fancy: to like, as in "do you fancy him?"  
> fit bird: fit is hot, a bird is a girl. so a 'fit bird' is a hot girl  
> boffin: nerd, loser  
> freshers: freshmen  
> plonker, prat: idiot, jerk  
> балерина: ballerina  
> котенок: kitten--endearing term  
> нет: Nyet, aka no.  
> radge: insane, mental  
> Slainté: Irish 'cheers'  
> Buttys: sandwiches  
> Dosh: money  
> Chips: french fries  
> Mobile: cell phone  
> Trousers vs. pants: trousers are what Americans call pants, pants are what they call underwear  
> Ace: great, cool  
> bollocks: bullshit. literally, balls.
> 
> Also, I am neither a sculptor NOR a dancer so if you see something wrong, please please tell em so I can fix it.

“Fuck the police!” Arya yelled, perching on her friend’s shoulders. “Fuck ‘em!”

“Arya,” Jon called up to her, “it's a rally to increase arts funding in schools.”

She looked down at the man beneath her, his hands holding down her legs. “Doesn’t mean we can’t fuck the police.”

He laughed, and pushed through the slow moving crowd. It was filled with people carrying signs and milling about. They were supposedly marching towards the governor’s mansion, but Arya had found that when they got the students from the art departments together, it was always a shit-show. She blew kisses to people in the crowd, who laughed and caught them.

Jon turned up to look. “What are you doing?”

“Acknowledging to my loyal subjects,” she replied. “They love it.”

Turning his head to look at her, Jon ran right into a solid object. It knocked the breath out of him and caused Arya to wobble from her queen-like perch.

“What’s the hold-up?” she snapped. “My people wish to adore me.”

The man Jon had slammed into turned around. He wore a long grey tank top over his jeans. Both were smeared with dried clay—even his close-cropped black hair had streaks where he had absent-mindedly run his hands through it. His large biceps were tensed, in preparation for what Arya wasn’t sure. His taller, ginger-haired friend turned as well.

“Jon,” the redhead cried. “The bloody hell’re you doing here?”

“Robb you bastard, I didn’t realize they let you outside without a beret on,” Jon laughed.

Robb smirked. “You should talk, where’re your _pointe shoes_?”

“At the cleaners,” Jon grinned, punching the man in the arm.

“With the rest of your tuxedos,” Arya added.

Robb looked up. “Arya Underfoot, you little devil. I should have known you’d be here.”

“Robb,” she replied haughtily. “Your curls are looking particularly ginger today.” He laughed as the larger man beside him caught a glimpse of the young woman on Jon’s shoulders. Arya eyed him. “Who’s your friend?”

“Arya, Jon, this is-“

“Gendry.” Even though the man had interrupted Robb, he spoke quietly. He met Arya’s eyes for a moment, then his gaze flicked back down to the ground. He jammed his hands into his pockets.

There was an awkward pause before Robb spoke again. “He shares a studio with me and Dany,” he supplied. “Transferred in after Margaery left.” The school tried to put students of different disciplines together, to inspire them and cause them to soak in different types of art. Margaery had been a glass blower, who made beautiful, delicate roses out of red-hot glass. Robb was a painter. His teachers thought he’d be the next Whistler, with his smoky landscapes and harsh pictures of industry, and by the awards he kept winning, Arya thought they were probably right. Daenerys, known familiarly as Dany, was a photographer. She was rarely in the studio—she much preferred riding about on the back of her foreign-exchange boyfriend’s bike and snapping shots of people on the street to slaving away in the darkroom for hours on end.

“Where _is_ Dany?” Jon peered around his friend looking for her, causing Arya to wobble. She pulled his hair in retaliation and he yelped.

Robb laughed. “She and Drogo are around here somewhere. Wanted to get a rat’s eye view of the crowd so they’re crouching on the ground.” He put his arm around Gendry, who tensed again. 

“Let me guess,” Arya said dryly. “Sculptor.”

At this his eyes widened. He took a moment to figure out how to respond. Arya could see the wheels turning in his head. Finally, he cracked a smile, and ruffled his hair. “What d’ya think,” he asked Arya, craning his head, “am I a Michelangelo or should I be making gnomes for gardens?” 

Arya stroked her chin pensively. “Well, definitely not the second one because no one should ever be making gnomes ever again. Those things are the devil’s lawn ornaments.”

“You guys should visit the studio,” Robb suggested. “Come see what his sculptures are really like. 

“What kind of things?” Arya asked curiously, leaning around Jon.

Gendry looked up at her. “People mostly,” he said. “Well, uh, gods. Greek gods.”

“Oooh,” she cried. “That sounds beautiful.”

“It does,” Jon admitted. “Unique.”

“You should come by,” Gendry invited, surprised at his own offer. “Take, um, a look.”

“Yeah,” Jon said. “We’d love to.”

Arya leaned down to whisper in his ear. He nodded and she looked towards Gendry. “How’s tomorrow? At three?”

“Sounds wonderful,” Robb answered for him. “We’ll have to spruce up the place for you.” Arya snorted.

“Arya’s room is basically a crime scene,” Jon grinned, letting the others in on the joke. “As long as nothing is growing on the floor, you’ll be fine.” Arya wiggled her eyebrows.

Gendry looked from Jon to Arya quickly, then back to the ground. She thrust her heels into Jon’s chest. “On, trusty steed,” she cried. “On to victory!”

Jon put his hand out. “Pleasure to meet you, Gendry.”

“Pleasure,” Arya echoed from above. She saluted the men below. “Defend the realm, m’lords.”

Robb bowed obediently. “Always. Jon.”

“Wanker,” Jon replied as the two-person tower disappeared into the crowd. Robb chuckled. 

Gendry watched the girl go, and leaned over to his friend. “Are they, um, together?”

Robb, pushing his way through the mass of people, stopped. “Jon and Arya?” he asked, surprised. “God, no. They’re like brother and sister. Known each other forever. Even went to dance together when they were kids.”

“Hmph,” Gendry responded as he follow.

 

Catelyn sat down in front of Gendry, dropping her purse to the side. Her long black hair had a streak of grey in it, but her face was elegant and lined with years. “So how are you doing,” she asked him. “Fitting in and all that?”

He looked at her silently and folded his arms.

“I don’t know,” she cried. “I’m a crap advisor, I’m aware. What should I be asking you. Have you found the good drug dealers yet? Making sure they’re not ripping you off?”

Gendry smiled and shrugged. “I guess I’m fitting in. I like the people in the studio, which is better than the alternative, I suppose.”

Catelyn’s eyes crinkled. “I hope you’re meeting people outside of the studio as well. You cannot spend your entire time here bent over a mound of clay,” she instructed, taking a sip of the tea in front of her.

“I did,” he protested, “I just went to a rally. Met dancers.”

Catelyn raised her eyebrows, setting the cup down. It made Gendry blush and he wasn’t sure why. “Well,” she continued. “Have you started any pieces yet?”

“Some bowls. Designs engraved all along the sides,” he told her. “Maybe try to sell them at market. And I was thinking of a _Hera_ to go with my _Zeus_.”

“I’ve seen your sculptures,” Catelyn said flatly. “They’re good, of course, you know that. You would not be here otherwise.” Gendry nodded, waiting. “But they are clinical. Cold. They’re too perfect to be real people. Part of that is the subject matter, but part comes from your teaching. Or lack thereof.” She paused. “Have you used a model before? A live person to sculpt from?”

“No,” Gendry replied. “I used medical textbooks. _Grey’s_. My teacher got me a plastic skeleton to study, but that was the extent of it.”

Catelyn put her warm hand on his. “Find someone to sculpt. Get them to stand before you. I don’t care how you find them—you can put an ad in the papers or ask one of your mates. But it will make you much better. That’s your assignment. Come back when you’ve finished.”

Gendry swallowed deeply, meeting Catelyn’s eyes. “I will,” he promised.

 

Gendry didn’t hear the first knock on the door. Or the second. Jon finally pulled the key from above the doorway and he and Arya let themselves in.

The marble block had lost much of its form. The dust covered the small tarp on the floor, as well as much of Gendry’s clothing. “Mate, your dandruff is out of control,” Arya said, jolting him out of his reverie. She’d come up behind him as silently as a cat. He put down his chisel and hammer and turned towards them, flicking off the stereo as he did so. Jon pulled a post-it from Robb’s easel in another corner of the room.

“ _Gendry,_ ” he read aloud, “ _went to get a bright blue. Should be back by 2:30. Remember Arya/Jon!! Nosh?? Dunno. –Robb_.” He looked up at Gendry. “The man is always late.” 

“I’ve noticed,” Gendry said dryly. “Everywhere we go, someone’s, uh, pulling him aside to talk about his ‘artistic vision’ or some shit like that.”

“Robb’s father was Eddard Stark. Have you heard of him?" Gendry shrugged. "Big time painter,” Jon explained. “Passed the art gene down, as well as people fawning all over him, trying to get attention from the progeny of the famous painter. He died a few years ago, so people don’t really mention him, but he had a big impact on Robb.” Gendry nodded, understanding.

Arya walked back and forth in the room, pulling canvases and touching everything she could get her hands on. She flipped through Robb’s stacks of painting, held Dany’s negatives up to the light streaming through the wide windows.

“It’s a nice space,” Jon remarked.

“Yeah, you guys have been here before, right?” Jon nodded. “It’s bloody huge, and I can play my music as loud as I want without the neighbors complaining because the walls are all soundproof, apparently,” Gendry said. “Obviously I wear headphones when the others are here, but I guess this place was part of a recording studio? I think the top floor still is.”

The men stood together awkwardly, their hands in their pockets. “Was that a Massive Attack remix you were playing?” Jon finally asked.

Gendry stopped toeing the ground. “Mate. Are you a fan?”

“Of course!”

“I’ve got some great-“

“Hey,” Arya called from a back corner. Who’s this?” Gendry turned and peered over an empty easel.

“Oh. That’s _Zeus_.”

Arya’s jaw dropped. “ _Your_ Zeus?” Gendry shrugged. “Jesus,” Arya said reverently, looking up at the massive sculpture. “Can I touch him?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Jon followed Gendry to the back, where Arya was standing next to Zeus. The sculpture, done in marble, stood on a large wooden table. It was probably little more than a meter high, but because of the positioning, it towered above them all, scowling down at them condescendingly. 

“Holy shit.” Jon stood back to get a better look. “He’s brilliant. Are you a magician?” Gendry blushed, and crossed his arms.

Arya reached up, then stopped, her fingers a few centimeters from the hand, and turned to Gendry for permission. “Go on then,” he told her. Her finger ran across the statue’s knuckles, clenched into a fist. The god’s other arm was flung out to the side, almost slicing through the air. Arya shivered.

“He’s so… cold,” she said. “The marble, yeah, but um, he’s angry at us? And the anger is… chilly, I guess, I don’t know…”

Her voice trailed off as Gendry shook his head. “No, you’ve got it exactly right,” he confirmed. “That’s exactly what I was going for.” He watched her curiously and cracked his knuckles. Jon winced at the sound. “Sorry,” Gendry apologized. “Nervous habit.”

Arya laughed, turning towards them. “He hates when I do that too, before we rehearse.”

Gendry cocked his head. “What do you guys do? Like, what types of dance.”

Arya and Jon looked at each other sideways. “I do more lyrical stuff?” Arya saw the confusion on Gendry’s face. “So it’s like a mix of classical and contemporary stuff. Ballet and hip-hop. So we’ll do ballet together-“

“-And I’ll do tap or jazz with our friend Sansa,” Jon finished.

“She’s much better than me at ballet,” Arya said, ignoring the noise of disagreement Jon made, “but she’ll do the solos or be practicing her Irish step dancing, so Jon and I get to partner together a lot. It helps that I’m small.”

“Miniature human,” Jon added helpfully. Arya glared at him. “But it’s not just because Sansa’s busy—you’re really good!”

“I’m good enough,” Arya allowed. “She was made to be the Firebird.” Gendry’s eyes followed her as she stepped between tables, finding his urns, busts, and model humans. She reached for something on a high shelf and Gendry admired the way the muscles in her skinny arm twisted as she stretched up. She pulled down her find. “Is this a kiln?!” Her face lit up with delight.

“Hephaestus’s kiln.” He moved to her side. “See the little lightning bolts?”

“Wow,” she said, awestruck.

Gendry grinned. “You should see some of the stuff I’ve got around here, in boxes and what not.” He paused, found his courage, and continued. “Uh, Arya, would you, um, ever, uh, pose? For me?” Arya looked up at him and he averted his gaze. “My teacher wants me to look at more body types,” he continued quickly. “You know, real world stuff. Or people. Whatever.”

Arya thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Gendry glanced up at her, then back down. “Really? I mean, I don’t want to pressure you into anything.”

Arya smiled. “As long as you keep me fed and watered, I’ll be as good as gold.” She leaned against a load bearing post. “People ask for subjects all the time here,” she told him. “Sansa gets asked at least once a day.”

The door slammed shut, startling them all. “Where are my favorite losers,” Robb shouted. “I brought you a present!”

Arya leaped around the corner and clapped her hands. Gendry and Jon heard a high-pitched squeal.

“If you don’t get over here and into my arms _right now_ , I cannot be held responsible for my actions,” Daenerys commanded. “I feel as though I am no longer loved.”

Arya rushed o her friend and squeezed her so tightly the pair almost toppled over. “Steady,” Robb laughed. “Arya’s broken enough things in here already.”

“There’s no glass here anymore,” Arya retorted, pulling her head from Dany’s shoulder. “Margaery always left it lying about! Of course I shattered a few pumpkins. _And_ I apologized for those.” Robb put up his hands in surrender.

Jon and Gendry stopped at the door. “Dany! Pleasure as always,” Jon said warmly. “Did you cut your hair?”

Dany pulled her long, white-blonde braid to her chest, straightening fly aways. “Just an inch or two. Not much proportionally—it’s still past my waist.” She grinned. “The stylist wanted to chop it off into layers, but I told him I’d cut off his testicles and make a tea from them if he tried.”

Jon shook his head as the others laughed. “Every time I see you it’s as though you’ve just stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine and then you say shit like that. I can’t take you seriously.”

“Or maybe you should take me more seriously,” she suggested. “Also, look who’s talking! Hipster leather jackets and skinny jeans. And Robb, with his menswear blazers and shoes without socks.”

Robb looked away guiltily. “I am an innocent bystander,” he cried throwing his hands up in front of his face.

Gendry and Arya laughed. “Us urchins will just be over here in the corner, in our t-shirts and tank tops,” Arya joked. She tugged on Gendry’s black shirt, still covered in marble dust. “But one of you needs to teach this boy what a lint roller is.” Gendry flushed. “I’m just kidding,” Arya whispered to him. “I like it. Makes you look like one of your statues come to life.” Gendry turned an even darker red.

Dany noticed. “Stop teasing the poor boy,” she exclaimed. Robb grabbed Arya by the waist and swung her around.

“Can I be a dancer now?” he asked. “Am I ballerina material?”

“No wonder everything gets broken in here,” Arya said breathlessly, wriggling out of Robb’s grasp.

“Oh! You have to see the pictures I just developed,” Dany cried, herding everyone over to the stacks of photographs.

Jon groaned. Arya leaned over and whispered to him, "Oh, be quiet! It won't take that long."

 

An hour later, Arya and Jon left, Arya holding a photo of the skyline that Dany had insisted she take. Both had Gendry’s number programmed into their phones—Jon so they could exchange song mixes and Arya so she could set up a posing time. Gendry had broached the subject cautiously, as though he already expected her to change her mind. She’d grabbed the phone out of his hands, typed in her number, and sent herself a text before he could react.  
Arya skipped backwards once they were out of the studio. “Nice lighting,” she said thoughtfully. Jon looked at her, dancing along the line between pavement and lawn. “ _What_?”

He shook his head. “Do you realize what you just agreed to?”

Arya stopped. “Yeah, I’m posing! I’ve posed for Dany before, Jon, I’m not daft.”

“No,” Jon replied. “It’s not the same. Dany likes motion. Her photos of you are great, but they’re all of you blurred.”

Arya’s face scrunched up. “Tell me.”

“You’re going to have to hold the same position for hours,” Jon explained. “For multiple days, probably. I don’t know how fast he goes, or what he’s going to sculpt you in, but you’re gonna have to be still for a long, long time.”

Arya was silent, walking along beside him. Then she threw herself face down on the wet grass.

“Oh God, you’re whinging already. Back out,” Jon said. “You don’t have to do it!”

“I _prooooomised_ ,” Arya wailed, her voice muffled. She pulled her head up. “I’m not going back now.”

Jon shrugged. “He’d let you out of it.”

“I know, that’s what makes it worse.” She moaned as Jon reached down to pull her up.

“Come on, my little statue. I’m hungry. Time to go.”

“He better make me look damn good,” she muttered.

 

Arya showed up fifteen minutes late, her hair still dripping and wet spots bleeding through her Tupac t-shirt. Gendry had tried to clean up his work area and set up a little raised platform that Robb had from one of his classes. He sat, tapping his tools nervously against the edge of the table until he heard Arya throw the door open. 

She ran in, panting. “Sorry, sorry! Class ran late. Sansa was auditioning for a part, and then when she showed up, Loras made us go through our routine together and then the freshers had to have every step drummed into their heads, you’d think they’d never seen a pointe shoe before, so that took like twenty minutes, and then I had to take a shower because I wasn’t about to show up covered in sweat and smelling like…” She stopped babbling and met Gendry’s eyes. “I, uh, I’m ready now though.”

Gendry stood, towering over Arya. “Why don’t you step up on the platform there?”

Arya turned, dropped her bag on the ground, and climbed up. She sat, and immediately wished she hadn't. Her leg started to twitch and she cracked her knuckles and then her toes, pulling her leg up and over her head in a stretch that would have been unbearably painful for anyone who didn't have 12 years of dance behind them. He circled her thoughtfully and she felt his eyes on her, moving like search beams.

Gendry scratched his head. “So, uh, I’d probably need to… see, um, you. I mean, your body, I guess, your muscles.”

“Oh,” Arya realized, “the clothing. I’ve got a sports bra on, underneath. Would that do the trick?” Gendry nodded. She stripped off her baggy t-shirt, revealing her short black spandex and bra, tight and stretching. She waited for Gendry to say something. Three minutes passed.

“So, um, what are you thinking?” Gendry blinked, startled to hear another voice in the room besides his own, in his head.

“I’m sorry, I, uh, I haven’t used a model before. Live model, I mean. I’ve used photos, and video. I studied a lot of medical journals,” Gendry explained.

“Okay,” Arya replied. “But I meant, how do you need me to stand?”

Gendry stood back and looked her up and down with his hand on his chin. “Is there a pose that you do, kind of sinking down, reaching, with-“ he bit his lip, “maybe your arms crossed over each other.” Arya sunk into croisé, arranged her arms, and waited. He inspected her, walking back and forth. “… Maybe flip…” Gendry moved forwards and gently pushed her hands so they curved inwards, cupping an invisible ball. She used to her teachers bending and molding her into different position, but they were forceful. Gendry’s hands were callused and warm, but his touch was hesitant, only moving her limbs into places they were comfortable going, suggesting rather than insisting. Her body gave in easily.

When he stepped back to check his handiwork, her back was ramrod straight, bent at an angle to the rest of her body. Her right leg crossed in front of the left, with the outstretched foot pointed and just resting on the floor. Gendry had moved her head so she was looking up at him, but kept her arms in their curved position. Without a word, he sat down at his table and picked up the cloth covering his large ball of clay.

On the table was a plastic torso, about a third of a meter high. It was attached to a long wooden stand. Arya watched him stick the clay around it and begin to work, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. She sighed and sunk further into the stretch.

After a few minutes, Arya felt like she was going to explode. Gendry had switched on his music, which would have helped except for two things. One, Arya couldn’t dance to it or even move at all. And two, it was dark music, low and sensual in a way Arya hadn’t known dubstep or that genre could be. That, combined with the intense, searching way Gendry kept looking up at her, made her feel like she wasn’t even wearing a bra. She shifted her weight back and forth on her feet uncomfortably.

“Talk to me,” she finally shouted. 

Gendry turned down the music so he could hear her.

“Sorry?”

“What are you, a perpetual motion machine?”

“TALK TO ME,” she said. “KEEP ME INTERESTED.”

Gendry sighed and dipped his hands in the warm water.

“If I don’t move, I’ll die,” she told him more quietly.

“What do you want me to talk about?” He waited patiently.

Arya thought. “Anything, I’m not picky. The fucking weather. How about you? How you ended up here?”

Gendry shifted uncomfortably and Arya changed her tactics. “What are you doing? Let’s start there. Tell me about the sculpting or whatever you call it.” A relieved sigh escaped Gendry’s lips. This he can talk about, Arya thought. This is where he’s comfortable.

“We’re starting with the insides already done,” he explained, “because I’m using clay. I didn’t want to do you,” he blanched, “I mean, sculpt a live, moving model in marble. Once I finish the clay, the torso with this detachable stand will let me put it into the mould. Make a mould, really, so that I can pour the bronze in and make the, uh, final product.”

“What makes you chose bronze versus marble when you aren’t using… well, me?” Gendry went still. Arya was worried she had offended him or something, as she was prone to do, until she realized the wheels in her head were just moving slowly.

He opened his mouth and paused again. “Bronze is a deep color. It’s strong. And…”

“Warm,” Arya supplied. Gendry smiled broadly, pleased by her understanding.

“Exactly. When they were originally made, the classical Greek sculptures were painted these bright, elaborate colors. I don’t know how many Greek sculptures you’ve seen-“ Arya’s mouth twisted, “-no, mental question, ignore it.” Gendry took a deep breath and began to mold the clay again, looking to Arya and back. “Well, the ones that we have now, the ones that have survived, the paint’s all washed off them. They’re clean and white. And that’s how people think of that type of sculpture. But for me, a lot of the same… ideas, I guess? Or principles? The concept that these sculptures, the people depicted are gaudy and garish, that they’re really only skin deep, and underneath, the skin or the paint is cold, heartless marble. Aphrodite was the goddess of love and beauty, and all that shit, right? But the woman never really loved. She’s marble to me. But her husband, Hephaestus, who worked at his forge, now he had a heart. He had passion and soul. He’s bronze,” Gendry finished. Arya screwed up her face, processing, and he realized how long he’d been talking. The clay on the table had gained a form, rough legs and arms projecting outwards. The small head was blank, but the neck had a pleasing curve. He blinked. Arya still hadn’t moved her body.

“You’re good,” he said hurriedly. “We’re done for the day.”

Arya slowly raised her back to an upright position, stacking her vertebrae one by one. She linked her hands together and pulled them back behind her head, stretching as far as they could go. Gendry caught himself staring at her chest, and busied his hands with a wet cloth, wiping down the table.

“A bit sore,” Arya said, turning to him. “But on the whole, much better than I thought it’d be.” She bent down again to pick up her shirt from the floor right as Gendry glanced over and got a full view of her rear. “Fucking fuck,” he thought. “You just looked at her for half an hour. Get a hold of yourself, you bloody plonker.”

Arya slipped her shirt over her head and grabbed her bag with ease. “This week is a bit rough for me,” she said apologetically, “can we do next Monday?”

“That’s fine whatever works for you,” Gendry agreed. He couldn’t meet her eyes, but Arya didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Delightful, see you then,” Arya grinned. “I’ll text you about the time,” she called, rushing out the door.

Gendry threw his head to the table and sat there for two minutes before standing and grabbing the cloth. He flipped up the music, now playing an xx song, and stood in front of the low sink, running cold water over his wrists. He breathed in and out deeply before turning to drape his unfinished lady with the wrung out cloth. He put his sculpture on the back shelf of the closet, high up. “To keep her safe,” he thought, before turning off the light and gently closing the door.

 

Arya loaded her plate with chicken alfredo with fettuccini and slid in next to Sansa. The freshers scooted down dutifully, even if Arya caught more than a few of the blokes shooting longing glances in the redheaded girl’s direction.

Sansa looked at Arya’s plate and sighed. Her own meager salad wilted. “I hate you,” the redheaded girl told Arya. “I truly, truly do.”

“I thought you liked the stuff,” Arya said through a mouthful of pasta. “Greens and all that.”

“I do… Sometimes I’d rather have your metabolism though. I just need to get rid of these last couple of pounds.” Sansa pinched invisible fat on her stomach. Arya raised an eyebrow in response.

“Where’d you go after class today?” Sansa asked, smoothly changing the subject. “You just about sprinted out of there.”

Arya finished chewing and took a big gulp from her water glass before she responded. “I’m posing. For this new guy. He’s a sculptor.”  
Jon dropped his plate, piled high with garlic bread, on the table.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Sansa cried, exasperated.

Jon ignored her and set to. “You talking about Gendry?” he asked Arya from across the table. She nodded. “How’d the session go?”

“I mean, I didn’t _die_ ,” she told him. He laughed. “No, once he started talking to me it wasn’t all that bad.”

“Is this the new boy who replaced Margaery,” Sansa interrupted. “What’s his name? Gendry?” Sansa had loved the older girl and her delicate glass roses. Margaery had even made Sansa a bouquet after her starring performance in _Swan Lake_.

Arya swallowed her mouthful of food. “Yeah, he works with clay and marble. You’d like him, Sansa, he uses big words like, um.” She racked her brain. “Garish?” Sansa harrumphed, unconvinced. “That reminds me.” Arya turned to Jon. “What’s garish mean?”

Jon laughed and explained it to her, pulling apart another piece of bread. “That surprises me,” he remarked. “Gendry didn’t seem very… loquacious.” Arya made a mental note to ask him about the word later. “He was pretty shy, actually,” he continued.

Arya thought. “When he’s working, or talking about stuff he knows, he gets more comfortable,” she offered. “Easier for him to talk.”

Sansa shrugged. “We’ll see. But you like him?” Arya smiled. “Then for your sake, darling, I shall make an effort.”

“That’s Sansa’s loving spirit,” Jon grinned. Sansa sniffed and threw a beet at him.

She waited until she and Arya were walking back to their apartment to ask what she really wanted to know. “Do you fancy this lad?”

Arya tripped over a cobblestone in the road. “Fucking hell, Sansa,” she said from the ground.

Sansa pulled her up. “Didn’t answer my question,” she reminded her friend.

“God, I don’t know,” Arya replied, throwing her arms up in despair. Her forehead creases. “I mean, he’s nice and all, and interesting. Smart. Possibly even funny, time will tell.” Her eyes sparkled before she looked down at her feet and paused.

“But,” Sansa prompted.

“But… he’s gorgeous,” Arya finally admitted. “Bulging muscles, long eyelashes, all that good stuff. Boy’s got a chin that could cut steel. I can flirt with him because I know it’s never going to happen.” She sighed. “He’s out of my league. He should be dating supermodels, like you or Dany.”

Sansa stopped walking and put her hands on Arya’s shoulders. “Look, I’m not going to push you to do anything you don’t want to do, or don’t feel comfortable with. But you are one of the most loyal, best people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. You are clever, funny, graceful, and even beautiful in your own way, even though I know you don’t think so.” She pulled Arya’s chin up so that their eyes met. “I am not someone who says nice things out of pity. You know that. If I say these things, it is because I believe them to be true.” Sansa let her arms fall. “I just never want you to think that you are less than you are. Because you’re amazing, Arya.”

Arya threw her arms around the older woman and squeezed her close. Arya looked up, eyes watering. “You’re pretty awesome yourself.”

Sansa patted her on the back. “Yes. Yes, I am. Now let’s go home.”

Arya was quiet for a while as they walked. “If anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

 

When Gendry got to the studio the next morning, Robb stopped him at the door. “Nope.” Gendry’s forehead creased. “We have been remiss,” Robb grinned. “What kind of men are we, not showing you around.”

Gendry raised an eyebrow. “Around…”

“The bars, restaurant, best trees to sit under,” Robb nudged Gendry, “best places to go fit bird watching…”

Gendry knew when he was beaten. “I guess one day wouldn’t kill me.”

“Of course not!” Robb slung his arm around Gendry’s shoulders. The men walked back down the stairs side by side.

Out the front door, the morning was cold and gray. Instead of bleaching out of the colors, though, it made them pop against the sky. Robb’s curls looked the shade of a ripe pumpkin.

Jon strolled up, hands jammed in his pockets and a navy blue cap hanging off his head. “Nice glasses,” he teased Gendry. “I didn’t realize we were going out with a boffin.”

Gendry pushed the frames up his nose and pretended to cry dramatically before snatching the slouchy cap from Jon. Robb laughed.

“Our partner in crime has arrived. Now we may embark upon our journey,” Robb proclaimed. He pulled Gendry and Jon to either side of him, arms around their shoulders. “Now lads, this is to be a mighty quest, filled with dragons to slay and fair damsels to rescue.”

Gendry snorted. “Why do I have a feeling that you’ll be doing all the ‘fair-damseling’,” he muttered.

“It is not my fault if I have a face that the ladies adore,” Robb protested. Jon shook his head and pulled the two of them down the pavement.

 

Robb had been accosted for the third time when Jon and Gendry sat down in the Landing Café. “I’ll just be a minute,” he told them. “Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.”

“It actually is a good café,” Jon admitted. “Hard to enjoy when someone wants to praise Robb, or girls keep interrupting us to flirt with him.” Gendry glanced up at Jon and back down at the menu.

Jon caught that. “Don’t get me wrong, the bloke’s like a brother to me. He walked up to me at the freshers’ fair and said, ‘Ballet must be a terrific way to meet girls,’ I replied, ‘I thought all great painters cut off their ears,’ and we’ve been inseparable ever since.” He pointed to the menu Gendry was holding. “Don’t worry about that.” Gendry put it down obediently, just as a waitress came up to the table.

Jon smiled up at her. “Hi Jeyne.”

She beamed back. “Hi yourself. What can I get for you?”

“Three coffees—one black, a latte, and—“ he looked to Gendry.

“Black, please,” Gendry said, looking at the waitress and back to the table.

“And three _croque madams_ ,” Jon finished. “Thanks.” Jeyne nodded, left for a few minutes, and brought back the cups, boiling hot.

Robb plopped down at the table, pulling off his black pea coat. “I’m here, I’m here, what’d I miss.” He grinned up at Jeyne, who fluttered her eyelashes at him at him as she retreated back into the kitchen.

Gendry sipped his coffee, burning his tongue. “Jon was just explaining what a lothario you are. Sounds like you even flirted with him.”

Robb roared. “Oh, I see the cat has fully let go of your tongue now, with your big words and your bloody sass. Outrageous. You shall be soundly thrashed for that one.” Gendry and Jon grinned, and dug into their sandwiches.

 

When they got to the pub that night, it was already full. Girls and lads from the school sat at separate tables. The girls would flick their hair, the boys puffed out their chests, and they all drank from their pints. When Robb entered through the front door, the mood changed. People came out of their booths to talk to him. He had a quick smile and a word for everyone. He convinced the girls to buy some of the lads drinks and in return, the men pulled out their chairs for them.

Jon glanced over at the bar. Amongst the groups calling out their orders and giggling, a broad back sat hunched over the bar top. He touched Gendry’s shoulder and the man winced.

“Are we such poor company?” Jon joked, pulling up a stool beside him.

Gendry forced a smile in response and took a draught of his lager. “Not really my thing,” he admitted.

“Why don’t I introduce you to some people,” Jon suggested. Gendry shook his head.

“I know, I’m a plonker,” he said, not meeting Jon’s eyes. ‘I’ve, uh, never really been comfortable in these kinds of situations, with a lot of people. Or with people I don’t know. Or… people,” he confessed.

“Hmm.”

“I’m sorry, mate. I had fun today, I really did.” Gendry slumped over again. “Maybe I should just head back.”

Jon leaned in. “You underestimate yourself. I think that maybe you’re bad at talking to strangers, sure—but it’s a skill, like anything. You need to practice. Even if it’s hard. Especially then.” He pointed to a small group of men over in the corner, away from the brunt of the noise. “Baby steps, mate.” Gendry let Jon pull him up and followed him to the table.

“Sam,” Jon smiled, clapping a heavy young man on the back. “Mind if we join you?”

“Not at all,” Sam said happily. “Always a pleasure.”

“Even if I bring a Chelsea supporter?” Jon asked, pointing to Gendry.

Good-natured groans rose from the group. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Gendry said hands in the air. “I can’t help it! I was born into it. Too far gone now.”

“Aye, well, we make no promises,” Sam said darkly, handing Gendry and Jon full pints. “We’ll try not to abuse and mock ye _too_ much, but that’s the most we can do.”

Jon and Gendry shared a smile, and sat down.

 

Gendry had texted Arya the day after their last session to set up the next appointment. He suggested Monday morning again. It seemed like that was the best day for both of them. Arya agreed readily. She wasn’t big on going out at night, especially Sundays. Most evenings she was in bed by ten. But that meant she was an early riser. On the mornings after a big party night, the school was deserted. Everything was still and quiet and beautiful. When it had been raining for the last few days, as it was that Monday, the earth smelled fresh and damp.

Arya put her house key on a hair tie around her wrist and slipped her ID into her bra. She pulled her hair back and clipped on her iPod.

_Wake up to the sound of your fleeting heart_

Her feet pounded the pavement, her breaths puffing out in hot little clouds. Her hands began to warm up first.

_When you go, what you leave is a work of art_

She ran over the steps of her new routine with Jon over and over again. It was a big piece, high responsibility level. The ones she did in hip-hop came naturally, as though she had already learned them and her body remembered. Ballet was more difficult. Sansa had been practicing another dance, so Arya had to fill in. 

_And my love is yours but your love’s not mine_

The dance was the climax of the show they were to put on that term and she was praying she wouldn’t have to perform it. She struggled with the arabesques and brisé vole with the fouetté and had fallen again and again practicing the grand jeté in the pas, slamming with Jon into the floor.

_Live like your love wasn’t meant for mine_

The song changed and Arya grinned, picking up the pace. Syrio, her contemporary teacher, had sent her a new mix the night before. The first one, Adorn, was exactly what she needed, cool but happy at the same time, the kind of thing she loved performing to. He liked her to live with the music, to think of it as a background to her life. Then, when they were developing routines, she was already comfortable with the rhythm and the movements. She made it through Miguel and a Kendrick Lamar song before she got to the studio building.

The air inside wasn’t much warmer than outside. Arya hadn’t run for very long and the cold air kept her from sweating. Still, her cheeks were flushed and her blood pumping when she opened the door to the studio.

“Yo,” she called, pulling her earbuds from her ears. No response. She checked the iPod clock to be sure she had the right time. “Gendry?”

Arya walked past the paintings and cameras, scanning the room. The frigid wind blew in through the open window and she shivered, her heart rate returning to normal. She hurried over to slam it shut and from behind her heard steady breathing, the hint of noise.  
Gendry was slumped over his workstation, snoring lightly. His glasses had fallen off his nose and his hair brushed up against a clay bowl, only engraved half way round. Arya crossed her arms. “GENDRY.”

He woke with a jolt, sending his tortoiseshell frames flying off the table. “ _Ohhh_ shit,” he said, eyes wide.

“Oh shit is right, “Arya agreed. “Were you here all night?”

Gendry rubbed his eyes and found he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He bent down, searching for them. It took a minute for his eyes to focus so he could see more than just an indistinct blur yelling at him. “Fuck,” he realized, “the bowl’s dried out.” He picked it up and tossed it into the trash beneath his table.

“AND you left the window open,” she continued. “You could have fucking frozen to death!”

Gendry grimaced. “I-I’m sorry.”

Arya walked over and picked up the coffee cup from beside him, the one with the image of the Vitruvian man printed on it. “At least you’ve got coffee,” she allowed. “Doing something right.” She lifted the mug to her lips.

“Arya, no—“ Gendry tried, but it was too late. He winced.

She lowered the mug, her face full of fury. “ _WHISKEY?_ ”

Gendry hung his head. “Technically, there is coffee in there… Irish Coffee. Just a little bit,” he tried.

“In a freezing room, by yourself,” Arya said coldly, dumping the mug out into the sink. “You need to take care of yourself better.”

He said nothing and she took that as agreement, setting the mug down and stepping up onto the dais as he fetched his lady from the cupboard.

When he returned, she was facing away from him, stripping off her shirt, gripping it at the nape of her neck. Gendry saw blue, purple, and yellow splotches on her back, trailing down to her legs, and he felt his hands grow cold.

He put the sculpture gently down on the table and walked slowly up to the platform. Arya felt his presence behind her and turned, almost slamming into him.

“What are these,” he demanded.

Arya’s mind went blank. The combination of being so close to him and seeing the look on his face, lip curled in a snarl and brow furrowed, threw her. His eyes, seen through the lenses of his glasses, were icy and cold for the first time. “Gendry, what—“

“ _These_ ,” he growled, pointing to the bruises.

She twisted her body to look. “Oh god, I didn’t even realize.” She moved her head and met Gendry’s eyes. “We’re doing routines. In class. My friend Ned and I… It’s basically me just throwing myself on the ground over and over. It’s rough, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Gendry’s eyes softened as he looked down at her. “So you’re okay. You’re not… No one hurt you.”

Arya shook her head. “All self inflicted. I’m fine.”

Reassured, Gendry jumped down and pulled the cover off the lady. “Holy shit,” Arya thought to herself, shocked. “Well. That’s new.”

Gendry took a few deep breaths and composed himself before his glasses could fog up. He looked up at Arya, who quickly arranged herself into the position. She watched as he turned on the iPod. Dubstep, but at a lower volume than last time. She could live with that.

He began and for a few minutes there was silence. “Have you ever tried yoga?” she asked finally, curious.

He stopped, his hands forming the dip of Arya’s knee. “Do I look like I do yoga,” he said, amused.

Arya grinned. “You’re just so hippy granola. No, it’s that breathing thing. Reminds me of _vinyasa_. Breathing centered yoga style.”

“Sadly, I cannot say I have tried it,” Gendry replied, distracted as he focused on the toes of the lady’s legs, arranged on pointe. Regardless, his lip curled into a smile. “I gather you have?”

“We did bikram yoga,” she told him, stretching her neck. “They stick you in a tiny room with twenty other people and crank the thermostat up to 40 degrees and expect you to pull your head through your legs.”

Gendry’s mind was filled with an image: Arya, in a downward facing V, dripping sweat. “Sounds like fun,” he said, careful to keep his voice steady.

“Boatloads,” Arya responded. “Oh, tell me about sculpting.”

“I’m using clay,” he started.

“No shit.”

Gendry glared at her. “Do you want to sass me, or do you want to learn?”

“Both,” Arya muttered under her breath, but made no further protests.

“I like clay,” Gendry continued, “because I can change things up and get the, uh, movement. Marble’s big and full, and you can get the veins and muscles. The masters can even make it look like their alive, show transparency where there is none, or shadow. But for flaws, you need clay. Even the inherent flaws in marble look like a deliberate design choice. Clay’s… people aren’t perfect either. So it works. For my purposes anyway.”

“You show people really well,” Arya said slowly.

He nodded, accepting the compliment and moving on. “I studied them enough,” he replied. “You started dancing when you were really young, right? And kept going—you probably had classes every day. Shoes and outfits and camps during the summer where you learned from people who were _famous_ in the ballet world.”

He looked up from examining Arya’s torso. She swallowed. “Pretty much.”

“Well, my school didn’t have an arts programme. My English teacher took me aside after class one day when I had punched one of my mates in the face at lunch. She gave me a book with pictures and told me I had a choice. I could stay after school every day and do arts with her, or I could end up in jail. The book was _Arts and Visual Culture from 1100 to 1600_. I remember. I’ve still got the book. So when I came back the next day, I told her I wanted to do something where I could touch things. So she went out and bought me a body model, like the kind doctors use. To study on.”

Arya listened intensely. When Gendry paused to grab more clay, dipping down to the bucket on the floor, she spoke up. “But… you don’t talk like that,” she said hesitantly. “I mean, you use big words and all that.”

“Brienne did that too,” he explained. “She told me that other people never’d take me seriously unless I could talk educated. So she’d give me lists of words to study and she’d quiz me while I worked.” Gendry turned the model a quarter of the way around so he could work on the profile. “She made me interview at places, and when a spot opened up here, she pulled every string she had for donations, scholarships… The woman fucking saved my life. She showed me that just because the men my mum brought home were human scum, that’s not what I had to become. Cat’s a good teacher, and I’ll be able to learn a lot from her for sure, but she’s no Brienne.” He met Arya’s eyes. “It’s different for you, but do you understand what I mean?”

“What does it feel like to you?” Arya asked, curious. “Sculpting things. People.”

Gendry blinked and thought for a moment. “Comfortable,” he responded, surprised at himself. “It’s _easy_. Like—“

“—it’s what you’re meant to be doing,” Arya finished.

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

“That’s dancing,” Arya said, excited. “That’s what it feels like for me. We are the saaaame.”

Gendry grinned and looked back to the sculpture. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Arya looked down and then remembered Gendry needed to see her face. “You should see Sansa. She’s like a fairy princess when she dances. It’s breathtaking.”

“You must be pretty good,” observed Gendry, “to go here.”

“I’m good enough,” Arya said plainly. “I’m better at hip hop. Or contemporary—that’s like… a mash-up of ballet and hip hop. It’s so much fun. We get to actually make things up because it’s so new. Nothing’s written in stone. Not like ballet, where all the best dances are tens or hundreds of years old.”

At this, Gendry looked offended. “Old styles can be good too.”

Arya just laughed. “Ok, Grandpa.”

He flushed. “I’m not that much older than you,” he mumbled.

As Arya was leaving, she poked her head back through the door. “Hey, what was that song you played? The one that went bum bum bum, BAAH DUM.”

Gendry stopped cleaning up. “Oh, _Feel the Love_? The one about ‘All I said is true’?”

“Ye-e-es,” Arya replied uncertainly.

“It’s got a saxophone thing.”

“Oh, yes,” Arya remembered happily.

“I’ll send it to you.”

Arya grinned. “Wonderful. Until next week, Praxiteles.” Gendry scrunched his face in confusion. She shrugged. “So I looked up some sculptors. It’s whatever.” She slammed the door behind her so she wouldn’t see Gendry’s smile. It caused Dany, on the way up the stairs, to wince.

“Not so loud, darling,” she whispered, hand to her temple.

“Late night with Drogo?” Arya teased.

A wicked smile crept across Dany’s face. “The boy can _drink_. I’ve got to get some coffee in me—I’ve a meeting with Jorah this morning. He’ll tell me how great I am for fifteen minutes and then lecture me on wasting my talent for thirty, and I can’t handle all that without some sort of stimulant.”

“Cocaine,” Arya suggested.

“Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind,” Dany sighed.

“I’ll see you later,” Arya called, pounding down the stairs.

Dany waved goodbye and opened the door to the studio. A wave of ear-splitting dubstep washed over her. “AHHH,” she cried, dropping to the floor with her hands over her ears. “GENDRY!” 

He quickly turned off the music. “Sorry, sorry! Forgot you were coming in this morning.”

Dany groaned. “My brain is on fire.”

Gendry laughed and draped a wet cloth over the sculpture.

“Arya was posing for you?” Dany asked, standing up and hoisting her messenger bag over her shoulder. She walked to the platform.

“Yeah, she’s got class this morning, so we did it early,” Gendry said.

Dany bent over, her long hair falling over her face. “What’s this then?” she questioned, holding something small in her hand. Gendry peered at her.

“Shit,” Gendry grimaced. “It’s Arya’s iPod.” He ran to the window, but Arya was already out of sight. Gendry turned to Dany. “Are you gonna be here for a while?”

“I’ll be here for like half an hour and then I’m going to Jorah’s office,” Dany replied.

“Ok, I’ll be back by then—don’t lock up.” He grabbed his leather jacket from the chair, slipping it on, and took the iPod.

“You know, you shouldn’t run in trainers. It’s bad for the soles of your feet,” Dany yelled after him. The door slammed again. She winced and sighed, then set about making a fresh pot of coffee.

 

Arya pushed past the frosh stalling in the lobby, milling about and talking about their haircuts or their new shoes. When they saw Arya arrive, they followed her into the locker room, chatting amongst themselves more quietly. She ignored them and pulled open her locker. Sansa, lacing up her shoes on the bench, raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not like you to be late,” she remarked, waiting for Arya to change.

She stripped off her shirt and put her legs into the leotard. “I was posing. For Gendry.”

Both eyebrows shot up at this, but all Sansa said was, “Hmm.”

Arya pulled her shoes out of her locker and closed the door, walking into the dance studio. Sansa followed her silently. The other girls joined them quickly. Sansa secured her prime spot at the barre and began her warm-ups. Arya sank to the floor and tied her shoes up.

“I just want to remind you of your promise,” Sansa said innocently. “You said you’d tell me if anything had happened.”

Arya opened her mouth to respond when the doors opened behind her. She saw Sansa’s jaw drop and turned.

Gendry stood just inside the studio doors, cheeks red and panting heavily. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. The girls who had fallen silent at his entrance began to whisper amongst themselves. Arya pulled herself up from the ground, her legs crossed when she stood. He caught sight of her and a broad smile spread across his face. They walked towards each other slowly.

“Gendry,” Arya smiled, looking up into his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

This jolted him back to reality. He rifled through his pockets as she stood before him. Finally he found what he was looking for and pulled it out.

“There,” Gendry said triumphantly, sticking the iPod out towards her.

Arya’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh! I didn’t even realize I left it,” she admitted. She reached and grasped his upper arm quickly. “Ta,” she said, looking back up at him. They stood like that for a moment. Then Sansa cleared her throat. “Um, I don’t think you’ve met,” Arya said quickly. “Gendry, this is my friend Sansa. Sansa, Gendry.”

Sansa put on her kindest smile and extended her delicate hand. “Charmed,” she told him. Gendry took her hand, unsure of whether to shake it or kiss it. He looked towards Arya for confirmation. She gave him a firm nod. He shook, roughly.

“I hear you’ve convinced our Arya to pose for you,” Sansa continued, unfazed. “Is she a good model?”

“Excellent,” Gendry mumbled, staring at the floor. “Very statuesque.”

Loras poked his head through the studio doors. “Class, begin your exercises. Jon and I are having a little discussion—it’ll just be a moment.” He eyed the intruder to his studio suspiciously and looked at Sansa. She shrugged and his curly head disappeared back through the doors. The dancers all found their ways to the barre.

“I’d better go,” Gendry said quickly. He looked at Arya. “I’ll, um, send you that song.”

She smiled, nodding graciously. “Thank you again, Gendry.”

He nodded, turned, and paused. Looking back and meeting her eyes, he said, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sansa.”

She was taken aback, but hid it with a smile. Satisfied, he left. Sansa turned, raising her eyebrows at Arya again. “ _Well_ ,” she said. “ _Most_ intriguing.”

Arya flushed. “You know, if you keep doing with your eyebrows that they’ll freeze in that position,” she snapped, and followed Sansa to the window. The two girls sat on the sill.

“Dude’s a smokeshow,” Sansa said appreciatively, watching Gendry’s ass as it disappeared around a corner.

“Sansa!” Arya was shocked by her friend's language.

“Hey, I appreciate a man with a sway in his step as much as the next girl,” she smiled, dropping into her splits. She leaned forward, then to one side, dropping her head to her right knee. “Are you hitting that yet?”

Arya’s cheeks flushed red. “We’re just friends,” she mumbled, slipping on her leg warmers. “I’m posing for him, that’s all.”

“Hmph,” Sansa smirked. “That boy should be in marble, is all I’m saying.”

Arya shot a quick look at her friend. Sansa saw the flash of fear.

“Not that I would go for him,” she clarified, watching Arya’s shoulders relax as the younger girl pawed through her gym bag. “I just like to look. Too muscly for me. I like them long and lean.”

“So, what you’re saying is you’d like someone a bit taller, skinnier.” Arya pretended to think. “Like maybe, possibly, someone who looks a bit like Loras?”

“I will kill you and leave you in the closet with the yoga mats," Sansa said, deadpan. "It smells so bad in there they'll never find you. They won’t even look in there. ‘ _The fart closet? No, thank you. We don’t really need to find her that bad anyway_ ’."

Arya grinned. “I’m a fighter,” she retorted. “You’d never be able to kill me.”

“Ugh, such work,” Sansa agreed. “I will let you live. For now.”

 

Loras had texted Arya when she and the rest of the girls were at lunch.

“ _Congrats!!!_ ” the text read, and then a second later: “ _cn’t w8 2 come c u_ ”. Confused, Arya texted back, “ _Loras, we hv class 2moro I’ll c u then_ ”, then promptly threw her phone in her bag and forgot about it.

When she arrived at the hip-hop studio, Syrio pulled her aside. The man was short, but broad, and his dark coloring made him more imposing than he would have been otherwise. “See me after class, балерина,” he told her. Arya nodded gravely and ran to change. She’d taken a red gown from the cast-offs of the costume department and torn it apart for her dance with Ned. Some people found him snobbish and dry, but he wasn’t half bad, in Arya’s opinion. Big enough to swing her around, and that’s what mattered for her purposes. She’d been taught that even if she didn’t like everyone she danced with, she had to respect them, and she liked Ned well enough. He always showed her courtesy. If the movements were uncomfortable for her, he’d work with her to change the dance.  
When she had showered and changed afterwards, she found Syrio out in the lounge room. Arya had heard that the trustees had tried to give him an office, to which he had smiled and bowed, and then immediately filled with sofas for the students as soon as their backs were turned. Everyone loved him.

“котенок,” he cried joyously upon seeing her. “Come in, come in.” Arya closed her door behind her.

“I’m not in trouble?” she asked.

Syrio’s face darkened slightly. “You have been doing the baths of ice after your dancing, yes?”

“Oh. Ye-e-es,” she lied, promising herself she’d be better at ice bathing.

Syrio smiled happily. “Good, good, Aryanka.” She sat down on the couch across from him and cracked her knuckles. “Do you remember,” Syrio began, leaning forward and stroking his bushy beard, “the woman who was here a few weeks ago?” Arya looked blank. “I had you do the Ocean Dropping dance,” he reminded her.

She remembered. That dance was one of her most difficult routines. It required flips and spins and elaborate twists. She was always sore for days afterwards. She hadn’t even been able to bend over all the way for the pose without her legs spasming, so she and Gendry had gone and gotten coffee instead. “Yes,” she replied, with more confidence.

“This woman, she is from London,” Syrio explained. “I invite her to look at students, especial you.”

“I never took you for a slave trader,” Arya joked.

Syrio shook his head even as he laughed. “This morning, she calls and tells me it is you that she wants. The woman, she is a producer for the show of the stage. In the west part.”

“ _The West End_?” Arya said, disbelieving. “She wants me for a show in the West End?!”

Syrio nodded, grinning. “I tell her, are you sure this girl? She is stubborn, like mule, or donkey.” He eyes danced. “But no, she say you, as soon as term ends, she says to London. I tell little Loras already and he wants to throw party but I said нет, I will tell the tiny girl.”

“Syrio, this is incredible,” Arya smiled, stunned. “I mean, this is more than I could ever have dreamed of!”

Syrio put a hand on her arm. “балерина, I have tell her give you three days for response.” Arya looked up. “Is always good to do thinking period before the acceptance. To go to bed on it, as they say.”

Arya patted his hand. “You’re right,” she agreed. “But I have to tell you, I’m 99% wanting to jump up and scream with joy.”

Syrio released her, leaning back into his seat. “Okay, Aryanka. Just go and do the squealing out of Syrio’s ears.” He gave her a slip of paper with the number on it.

“Is your hearing going, Babushka,” Arya teased. He stuck his tongue out at her.

“Go,” he called as she ran out the door, bag bouncing at her side. “Leave Old Grandfather to die!”

“You’re never going to die, you’re a demon from the underworld,” she responded, her voice trailing faintly behind her.

 

“Sansa, holy shit holy shit HOLY SHIT,” Arya cried breathlessly, running through the door and slamming it shut behind her.

Sansa sighed. “Please don’t do that. It makes the dishes rattle.”

“Yes, fine, sure,” Arya apologized quickly. She threw her bag down and dropped to the ground in front of Sansa, who was doing her stretches. “ _Listen_.” The older woman sat up to attention, folding her long legs gracefully beneath herself so the couch cushions hid them. “I got offered a show,” Arya started. “A hip hop show. In the West End.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “Oh my _God_ , Arya.”

“I know, right,” Arya blurted out.

“I mean, this is bloody amazing.” Sansa reached out and pulled Arya into a hug. “I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were this good!”

Arya leaned back, grinning. “It’s so rare to get a paying contemporary dance job that’s not a back-up dancer for a tour or a music video. And, like, a steady job, a place I could actually live long term.”

“What’s the salary?” Sansa asked pragmatically.

Arya made a face. “I don’t know, I have to call them. But Syrio would have checked that—he wouldn’t have invited her unless we could make a living by it.”

“I assume you said yes,” Sansa said matter-of-factly, lifting herself to her feet and walking silently into the kitchen. She pulled a bottle from the fridge and two glasses from the cupboard. “It’s a dream.”

“Syrio told me to sleep on it,” Arya responded, taking the white wine Sansa offered to her. “But basically, yes, I’d be radge to turn this down.”

“ _Slainté_ ,” Sansa said, holding out her glass.

“ _Slainté_ ,” Arya echoed, clinking.

“It’s basically sacrilegious to be doing that without whisky or at least a pint,” Sansa sighed. “Sounds like we’re going out tonight. I’ll pull out my sequins.”

 

After hours in club after club, Arya had taken off her high heels. “Just too hard to walk in,” she told Sansa.

The girls found their way to a chip shop and were sitting at a table up against the window, their feet swinging off the high chairs. Sansa was digging into the mix of ketchup, mayo, and pepper that she had invented and Arya couldn’t stand. Once she had partaken in a few drinks, Sansa was very creative with her junk foods. It was the only time she ate like a real person and Arya loved it.

The bell on the door rang as people entered. Arya turned just as Robb fell upon her, squeezing the breath out of her with his bear hug. “Finally,” he cried, “a pocket human human of my very own! Can I keep her, Jon? I promise I’ll feed her buttys every day!”

“Get off me, you stupid oaf,” Arya protested, struggling in his grip. Finally, he released her and she slugged him in the arm. He winced, rubbing it with his other hand.

“Good, Arya, get your weight behind it,” Jon said encouragingly. He leaned over to Gendry. “Been teaching her to defend herself,” he confided. “She’s a tiger, that one.”

Gendry eyed him, his face like stone. Robb didn’t notice. “What’re you ladies doing out?” He rubbed Sansa’s head. “I thought you didn’t go out on school nights.”

Sansa smacked his hand away and smoothed down her hair. “Arya got a proper job,” she told them, her haughty tone offset by the slurring of her words. “She’s gonna be brilliant.”

The men turned to Arya, who shrugged, grinning. “Well, I’ve got a job, at least.” Robb yelped and crushed her again. Gendry shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Congratulations,” Jon said warmly. “You deserve it.”

Arya laughed. “You don’t even know what it is yet!”

“What is it then?” Gendry asked roughly, folding his arms.

“Show in the West End,” Arya replied. “Contemporary/hip hop stuff, lots of drama. I talked to the woman earlier on the phone and she said that I could even help with the choreography! Plus, the dosh’s good enough that I could afford to live really close. I’d leave at the end of November—they’re trying to open at the beginning of the year.”

“News like this deserves more chips,” Sansa interjected suddenly. “And probably beer. But first, more chips.” She took Jon and Robb by the arm and dragged them up to the register before they could voice a protest.

Arya looked up at Gendry, who was staring determinedly at the ground, hands jammed into his pockets. She waited for as long as she could.

“You haven’t said anything,” she snapped, regretting her tone as soon as the words came out of her mount. Gendry folded his arms again and met her eyes sullenly.

“Sounds like a lot of work,” he said finally.

Arya bit her lip. “I don’t mind work, if it’s good and not boring. It’d be like what I’m doing here, her the same dance again and again.”

“You’d have to sign a contract or sommat like that,” Gendry pointed out, reverting to slang. “Are you sure you wanna sign yer soul away for so long?”

“Better than being a backup dancer for a tour or in a music video, where you never know if you’re gonna have work the next day or where your paycheck is coming from,” she argued. “I’d have safety. And security!”

“Safety?” Gendry replied, disbelieving. “London’s a cesspit! Muggers and, and rapists.”

Arya put her hands on her hips. “Are you saying I can’t take care of myself?”

Gendry’s brow furrowed. “Well, leaving school before you’ve finished,” he tried, “it’s a mistake to drop out before you’ve actually graduated.”

Arya’s jaw dropped. “People leave all the time! Are you fucking kidding me? Margery dropped out and she’s designing things for Harrods. Even Sansa left for a year to tour with Riverdance,” she yelled.

Everyone else in the store had fallen silent. Sansa approached, her hands full with packets of chips. She brushed a strand of hair back from her face, handed a packet to Robb, put her hand on Arya’s shoulder, and asked, “Everything alright here?”

Gendry turned, furious, and slammed the glass door as he stormed out. Jon handed his food to Robb as well, and took off after his friend, calling, “It’s fine, Arya, I’ll find him.”

“Knob,” Sansa muttered.

Arya turned on her quickly. “You don’t know, Sansa! It’s not your business either.” She held out her hand to Robb. “Give me your mobile.” Robb looked at Sansa uncomfortably. Arya tapped her foot. “Robb, _mobile_.” He put the packets on the table, reached in his pocket, and handed it to her.  
She unlocked the screen and scrolled to the browser. Finally, she found what she was looking for, punched in the numbers, and raised the phone to her ear. “Hello, Maria,” she said. “It’s Arya. I’d like to accept your offer… Yes… Great. Thank you.” She hung up and handed the phone back to Robb. “There.”

Robb sighed. “I think that’s probably enough excitement for tonight. Allow me to escort you ladies home.”  
Sansa let him take her arm and stumbled off her stool. Arya followed them out the door, fuming. The cold night air sobered Sansa up quickly. Arya could feel her and Robb having a silent conversation ahead of her the entire walk back. She ignored them.

When they got to the door, Sansa gave Robb a peck on the cheek. “Go on,” she told him. “I’ve got it.“ He nodded, said good night to Arya, and strolled off whistling into the darkness.

Sansa unlocked the door. The girls climbed the stairs in silence. Arya went into the kitchen and got herself a tall glass of water. She brought it back to the table where Sansa was waiting expectantly. Arya put the glass down and pulled out a chair. Sansa slid a coaster across the table to her.

“So,” Sansa said, watching Arya carefully.

“So,” Arya echoed, meeting Sansa’s eyes.

“Lovely display of fireworks this evening,” Sansa began. “I wasn’t aware we were getting dinner and a show.”

Arya shrugged. “Not my fault if he decided to be a giant prat.”

“True, true,” Sansa agreed. “But from what I’ve heard, he’s not usually an prat for no reason.” She leaned forward, putting her arms on the table. “Any ideas why he would act in this way?”

Arya rubbed her hand up and down her arm. “All I said was that I got a job in the show. In the West End.”

“And he said,” Sansa prompted gently.

“And he started attacking the job! And me. I think he even slandered London, which was completely uncalled for,” Arya responded defensively, crossing her arms. “I mean, London never did anything to him.” Sansa laughed, leaning back in her chair. Arya looked up at the sound. “What?” she snapped.

“Did you ever have boys tease you when you were little?” Sansa asked. “Pull your hair, steal your crayons, that sort of thing?” Arya nodded. “They didn’t know how to deal with their feelings.”

Arya’s eyes widened. “Ohhh no. No, no, no. No,” she protested. “Sansa, he’s… he’s built like a pants model.” He’s so far out of my league, I’d have to buy tickets just to see him play.”

“Fine,” Sansa replied, “then give me another explanation.”

Arya grimaced. “I should really go to bed,” she explained, standing and edging towards the door. Sansa shook her head. She finished Arya’s water and put the glass in the sink before heading to sleep herself.

 

Jon and Gendry sat, going back and forth on rusty swings. The skies had cleared and the deserted playground was lit with bright moonlight. Jon watched his friend pump his legs, waiting for Gendry to tire himself out.

“So,” Jon said.

“So,” Gendry echoed, slowing to a stop.

“Want to explain what happened back there?” Jon asked slowly. “Maybe shed a little light on the situation? Gendry grunted and his eyebrows drew together. Jon waited patiently.

“I just… don’t think she should be making decision this big so, so flippantly,” Gendry finally complained. He scuffed his shoes in the dirt.

“Well, Arya is a grown woman,” Jon observed, keeping his tone level. “She can, and does often, make these decisions on her own.”

“But she’s rushing into this,” Gendry argued, beginning to swing again. “What if she doesn’t like it? Or they don’t like her?”

“Then she’ll come back,” Jon told him.

“And if she can’t come back? If she’s stuck in London forever,” Gendry continued.

“If everything goes well, you mean,” Jon said slowly.” “You’re worried about if she doesn’t come back.”

Gendry skidded to a stop and met Jon’s eyes. He sighed. “I… I can’t bear the thought of not seeing her again,” he confessed.

“Why don’t you just _tell_ her, mate? How you feel?” Jon clarified.

“She shouldn’t have to have me as a factor in this kind of decision,” Gendry mumbled.

“Hate to break it to you, but by the way she responded to your tantrum earlier, I’d say you already are.”

Gendry ignored him. “What if she says no?” he asked. “I just pine over a girl three years my junior and hundreds of kilometers away? Or worse, what if she says yes? We have a long distance relationship, both of us getting pissy because we can’t resolve our rows face to face?”

Jon was silent for a moment. “And if you never try, you’ll be even more fucked,” he finally said.

Gendry shook his head. “I just need to ignore my feelings until she leaves,” he explained gripping the chains tightly. “Just another few weeks and it won’t be a problem anymore.” Jon scratched his head.

 

Robb didn’t ask Gendry what had happened. And Sansa and Jon didn’t push their friends any further. But Jeyne served three cups of coffee to her favorite customer and his friends the next morning, stopping to check her hair on the way to the table.

 

Monday was torture. Gendry would have taken a sip from the glass filled with turpentine instead of his coffee mug if Robb hadn’t caught him just in time. He tried to make some bowls and vases for Catelyn to take to the market, but everything ended up with lopsided edges, or scratches, or just simply crap designs. Most of his work ended up in the trash.

Arya woke up late and had to sprint to get to class, which meant she missed stretching. Her arabesques were flat, her turn-out was poor, and she strained something during her grand plies. Loras simply shook his head at her grand fouetté en tournant. During her run, she almost sprained her ankle. The cafeteria was out of chocolate milk, her hair tie snapped, and her iPod was stuck on shuffle.

When she got to the studio, all of this was forgotten. Arya hesitated for a moment in front of the door, then knocked.

“Come in,” called a voice from inside. She turned the handle and pushed the door open. Both men were looking up at her, but Robb responded first. “Great, Arya,” he said quickly. “So nice to see you, as always, but I’ve got to go.” He slipped his messenger bag over his head and fished an Aero bar out of it, handing it to Arya. “Have fun, I’ll see you two later.” He pulled the door shut behind him, leaving Arya and Gendry to their awkward silence.

Gendry cleared his throat, the sound magnifying in the large room. He walked back around the corner, picked up the tools he had been washing from the bottom of the sink, put them down, and picked them up again. Arya took a few steps into the room, still clutching the candy bar. She dropped the dance bag beside the door and followed Gendry into the back.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Gendry said, facing away from her.

Arya played with the sweet’s wrapping, looking at her feet. “I told you I would,” she replied, her voice as clear as a bell.

Gendry nodded, then realized she couldn’t see the gesture. “Um, you can, uh, eat that first or whatever, while I get the, um, the sculpture.”

Arya looked up at this, startled, and realized she was still holding the candy. “Oh, no,” she replied, stooping to put the bar on the ground, “no, I’m fine.”

Gendry went to collect the lady as Arya tried to stretch out a bit on the platform before assuming the position. He came back holding the covered sculpture and set it down, hesitating before turning on the music. It sounded loud even to his ears, but he didn’t lower the volume. Arya took her shirt off slowly.

“Are you, um, cold?” Gendry asked. “I could, dunno, turn up the thermo-“

“I’m fine,” Arya lied, bending over into her stance. Gendry shifted in his seat. She listened to the music for the first time, really listened. The songs were dark and low, the kind someone would listen to while speeding away from a crime scene in the middle of the night in a red vintage car, the only light coming from the moon. None of the lyrics were explicitly about sex, but they still made Arya feel like her bra and pants were transparent. Without the talking, she was once again made explicitly aware of Gendry’s eyes moving up and down her body.

For his part, Gendry tried to look at one part of her body at a time. He started with the curve of the torso and kept his eyes fixed. At a point where he could not continue, he stood and walked behind her. Ostensibly, it was to view her posterior and the bones in her spine, but in fact was an attempt to get away from her stare. He watched Arya’s back become rigid as she tensed up.

She tried to force herself to loosen again. “ _Breathe_ , Arya,” she thought. “In and out. Like a bellows.”

Gendry flipped between songs and wavered between turning the volume up to drown out his thoughts and down when he couldn’t figure out what to do with the sculpture. Finally, he was satisfied with the back and decided he wouldn’t be accomplishing anything else that day.

He nodded to Arya and turned away. As he washed his hands, he heard her crack her back and gather up her things. Gendry picked up the lady and carried her into the back, keeping his gaze low. When he came back, Arya was standing between the dais and the table, fidgeting with her iPod. When she saw him coming, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Gendry swallowed deeply. He met her eyes as he approached. “Look,” she said firmly, “I don’t know what your problem is, or honestly, what’s happening here. But I know you’re a bloody good sculptor. And I gave you my word that I’d pose for you. So I’m in this until the end. And I also know the only way this will be any fucking good is if we can get along while we’re doing it.” She waited expectantly.

Gendy looked down to her hands where she was still playing with her device. “Broken?” he asked.

“Stuck on shuffle,” Arya replied. He reached out his large hand and she put hers into his, giving him the device and brushing his warm skin. Gendry took it from her and looked at it for a moment. He pressed two buttons at the same time. After a moment, the screen went black and an apple appeared.

“Brilliant,” Arya breathed, taking the iPod back. She looked up into Gendry’s eyes. “Thanks, mate.” He smiled, the grin spreading slowly across his face. She smiled back, reassured. Instinctively, she reached out and gripped his hand quickly. He stood still until she had closed the door behind her. Then he flexed and clenched his hand.

Gendry made three elaborate amphorae the next day and Loras complimented Arya’s adage.

 

When Dany arrived in the studio, Gendry had already started the kiln. The pieces he’d been working on would ‘bake’ overnight and he’d be able to glaze them in the morning. He had only a mini one in the studio, but it suited most of his purposes. Robb, hard at work in his corner, had a streak on blue on his cheek that spread as he absent-mindedly rubbed it.

Dany walked behind him to examine the forest taking shape on his canvas as she pulled off her scarf. “It’s a little Thomas Cole,” she observed, “with a streak of Dali.” Once he took the brush from the canvas, she touched his shoulder. He turned to look. “You at a good stopping point?” she questioned, running her fingers back through her hair.

Robb put the brush in a glass already full of them. “Pretty much,” he replied smoothly. “You got the tickets?”

Dany reached into the pocket of her oversized leather jacket and came up with three tickets. “Front and center.”

“Beautiful,” Robb replied. “GENDRY!” The man came out from behind the pantry door, clapping dust from his hands.

“What’s up,” he mumbled, looking back and forth between them.

“We’re going to the quarterly dance performance… recital thingy. And when I say us, I mean all three of us,” Robb told him.

“Lots of people and dance styles,” Dany explained. She saw the hesitant look on Gendry’s face and continued. “Many of our _friends_ are performing. Sansa and Jon are doing a duet and Arya’s got a solo.”

Gendry looked down at his blue V-neck, streaked with white and brown where he had rubbed his hands. “I don’t think I’m quite dressed for a performance,” he said.

“You’re going to be with a girl wearing gold sequin trousers,” Robb replied dryly. “People will hardly be looking at you.”

Dany shrugged and stuck her leg out to admire it. “I quite like them! They make me happy,” she grinned.

“As do I,” Robb assured her. “Very much so.” She smacked him on the shoulder as he smirked.

Gendry wiped his hands on his jeans, and grimaced at the new streaks this produced. Robb put on his pea coat and handed Gendry his worn out army jacket. Dany opened the door to usher them out. “Shall we?” she asked.

 

The auditorium was packed. By the time they found their seats, the noise had stabilized to a dull roar. Robb had been right—no one had given Gendry a second look. He had seen a young woman in what appeared to be a bejeweled lab coat as the entered the lobby and had immediately relaxed about his own apparel. A couple of young girls in varying hues of lamé had rushed up to Dany in the lobby, imploring her for advice and fashion tips. While she was detained, Robb and Gendry had grabbed programmes and gone ahead.

Gendry scanned through his. Apparently, the show was to open with a Spanish flamenco, followed by the freshers’ debut. The middle was mostly ballet (with a section devoted to Sansa and Jon) and it would finish off with the contemporary. Daenerys plopped down beside him, tossing her hair. “Good lord,” she said, “those children just went on and on.” The lights flashed twice and then went dark.

There was chatter through much of the performances, people shouting as they saw their mates, but not once the pas de deux began. Jon wasn’t much taller than Sansa, but he was broader than the other men, and stronger. “From _Giselle_ ,” Dany whispered to Gendry. He nodded. When Jon lifted Sansa up and over his head, it seemed as though they were two parts of one person for a moment. The audience held its breath. The audience refused to let the show go on afterwards until the pair had come back to the stage, bowing and waving graciously. Dany wolf-whistled loudly, two fingers in her mouth. Sansa beamed at the crowd. “Happier than I’ve ever seen her,” Robb told them afterward.

By the time the end came, some people had already ducked out of the theatre. But amongst those who stayed, whispers of anticipation spread. Then two dancers walked onto the stage in the darkness and the crowd went silent.

Arya wore a short red dress. It looked like it had cost a lot of money once, but was worm and ripped now. Strips of fabric hung down from Arya’s shoulders and past her knees. The man opposite her, dressed in a well-fitted black suit, was tall, especially in comparison to his partner’s small frame. Probably about six feet, Gendry thought, looking him up and down. Robb reached over to get Gendry’s attention. “That’s Ned,” he mouthed elaborately. Gendry nodded.

_Taxi driver_

_Be my shrink for an hour_

The spotlight shone on in the middle of the stage as the first notes came out of the speakers. The dancers sprinted towards the spotlight bean, appeared to slam their shoulders into each other, and spun off to the front corners. The warm, golden light spread to illuminate the whole stage.

_It’s rush hour_

_So take the streets if you wanna_

_Just outrun the demons, could ya_

Arya flew, spinning and jumping across the stage. She flung herself at Ned, who stopped her with his arms and pushed her down into splits on the floor. She crumbled. He spun over her, flipping from standing while he supported himself with her raised arms.

_If it brings me to my knees_

_It’s a bad religion_

_This unrequited love_

_It’s nothing but a one man cult_

Landing on the other side, he pulled Arya back up against him so they stood back-to-back, mirror images of each other. Arms still entwined, Ned leaned back towards Arya’s side, causing them both to bend. Ned stretched out and Arya crunched up. When they reversed the motion, Ned bent to his knees, pulling Arya with him. He held her on his back until she had found her balance. Then he stood, carrying her extended body up with him.

_I swear I’ve got three lives_

_Balanced on my head like steak knives_

Gendry looked at the audience for a moment. Everyone sat straight up in their seats, backs rigid against their chairs. Arya and Ned had captured their attention—his lady _made_ them take notice. He felt a surge of pride.

_He said, ‘Allahu akbar,’ I told him don’t curse me_

_‘But boy you need prayer,’—I guess it couldn’t hurt me_

When he looked back up, Ned was swinging Arya about him on the floor, connected by only one arm. Just when Gendry thought they couldn’t possibly hold on any longer, Ned used the momentum he’d created to fling her into his body. They fell, Ned softening the blow with grace, but there was still enough power that the sound echoed through the large room. Gendry winced. The pair rose again slowly, clinging to each other. Arya extended her back leg, sinking down into the stretch, then pulled herself back up and extended her arms as Ned spun off, leaping across the stage.

Arya’s body wailed at the distance. She tried to raise herself up, but crumpled to the ground again and again. He ran past her, sliding to a stop at the corner of the stage. With his hand not touching her, the two moved as though he had Arya on puppet strings. His hand moved up and down and her body rose and fell with its movement. They ‘fell’ again, this time into a roll. Once they stopped, Ned grabbed one of her legs and brought it up against himself. Arya’s torso fell back and Ned ran his head along her body, finishing at her ankle, small and perfect in the darkness.

_To be in love with someone_

_Who could never love you_

The lights had turned blue, Gendry noticed, colder and colder with the performance. Ned flung down the outstretched leg. Like a seesaw, the other popped up, and Ned got his head down just in time for Arya to swing it over him. He grabbed her and threw her first to one side, then the other. They rolled to the floor, separate but it unison, and pulled themselves up slowly. Across the stage, they reached for each other, and Ned fell to his knees. The lights went down on them staring at each other, breathing heavily.

The audience sat in stunned silence for a moment. Gendry’s heart dropped.

Then they sprung to their feet. The applause was deafening. Wolf whistles and cheers rang through the theatre. Ned and Arya bowed once as the curtain closed on them. Gendry clapped with all his might, fit to blister his hands, and grinning as though he was going to burst. But no matter how they called, the stage remained empty and the house lights remained on.

Dany looked over at her friend and nudged Robb. He saw Gendry and grinned, whispering, “The lad’s so bloody proud you’d think he’d just performed himself,” to Dany.

“He might have well’ve,” she replied quietly, “he can’t take any compliments on his own work, but he lavishes praise upon her.”

The group waited in their seats until most of the crowd had filed out. “We’ll have to wait for them anyway,” Robb explained, kicking back in his chair. Gendry sat, tapping his foot and fidgeting until the lane was clear. He almost sprinted down the aisle, Robb and Dany strolling down after him.

They found their way to the lobby after the show and stood by the exit door, drinks in hand. The first dancers to emerge were the freshers, breathless with the thrill of performing. Others trickled out. A few minutes later, Arya appeared, dressed in tights and a sweatshirt. Dany threw her arms around the girl. “Oh my gaaaaahd,” she yelled, “how am I even friends with such a talented person?”

Arya looked around at them, a bit shell-shocked. “I still can’t believe it worked,” she said. “I mean, putting it together ourselves.”

“ _Worked_ ,” Robb replied, “it killed!”

Arya met Gendry’s eyes, waiting for his response. She bit her lip, folded and unfolded her arms. “What’d you think?

“I…” Gendry rubbed the back of his neck. “Jesus, Arya.”

“You liked it?” she asked hesitantly. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Really,” she said gleefully, rising to her tiptoes, then settling back down.

“It was fucking ace,” Robb cried. “Arya Underfoot, you’ve done us proud.”

“I got goose pimples,” Dany added, grinning.

“I guess I knew you were good,” Gendry told her. “Just not…”

Arya opened her mouth to respond and was tackled by Sansa, who squealed at her. Jon strolled up behind her, taking slaps on the back from the men around him good-naturedly. 

“Mate,” Robb exclaimed, “A+ work. Really. Where do I sign up for this whole ballet thing.”

Jon punched him gently, laughing. “You wouldn’t last a day,” he informed Robb.

“You were so damned good,” Sansa whispered to Arya.

“No, you! Don’t think I didn’t notice the encore bow,” Arya said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“God, that was so fun,” Sansa confessed. Her eyes glowed. “What was your opinion?” she asked Gendry. “You haven’t seen this kind of thing before, yeah? So your taste is unadulterated.”

He met her eyes. “You two took a dance,” he said slowly, “and made it into a… a story.”

Sansa clapped her hands in glee. “That is such high praise. You are a natural critic, Gendry.”

“Time to go celebrate.” Dany put one arm around Jon, the other around Robb. “You all have _earned_ it.” The women followed them to the door.

Robb convinced them that the karaoke bar that was down the street really “wasn’t as bad as people always say” and got Jon & Gendry up on stage before they knew what was happening. They had started with ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ and were midway through ‘Hungry Like the Wolf’ when Dany leaned over to Arya.

“You should go for it,” she whispered. Arya jumped in her seat, and then tried to cover it up by reaching for her drink.

“What do you mean?” she questioned nonchalantly.

Dany smirked. “Nice try, sweetheart,” she replied. “But this isn’t my first rodeo. And the way you’re looking at Gendry and he looks at you, I feel like any room could be a bedroom, if you know what I’m saying.”

Arya blushed. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Do what makes you comfortable,” she instructed. “And it’ll fall into place from there.”

Arya sat in silence for a few moments. “Thanks, Dany.”

“Any time, sweetheart. Any time.”

 

Arya paced back and forth in front of the building, talking to herself. “So I go in and I say... No, that’s _stupid_ , he’ll... But what if I...”

Robb burst out of the front door, carrying two canvases under his arm. “Arya, darling,” he grinned, as Arya stopped, looking up at him. “Come to wish me luck?”

“The gallery owner?” Arya asked. “You’re showing him your stuff today?”

Robb nodded. “Fingers crossed. He could keep me in oatmeal for a long time.”

Arya laughed. “I’m sure you’ll win him over.”

“Gendry’s up there,” Robb said casually, suddenly very interested in a worm on the ground. “Drogo took Dany to go horse-riding for the day, so he should have the place to himself.”

Arya swallowed deeply. Robb leaned in and enveloped her in his bear hug, squeezing her quickly before letting her go. “Que sera, sera.” She smiled at him. “Alright, kiddo,” Robb said exuberantly, “must be going.”

“Bye,” she called after him as he set off down the pavement.

Arya watched him go, took a deep breath, and walked into the building. She paused before opening the studio door. As soon as she did, the happy fury of the Japandroids filled her ears. “Gendry?” she called hesitantly. The music stopped.

“Arya?”

“Yeah,” she responded, closing the door firmly behind her.

“I’m back here,” he said. She followed his voice into the back corner, where he sat glazing the rows of mugs and bowls set out before him.

Gendry looked at her blankly. “Did we--do we have a session set up for today? I’ve already made the cast of the lady and put her into bronze. Now it just has to set and-”

"I'm not posing for you today."

He set his tools on the table obediently and grabbed a rag, wiping off his hands. "Okay."

Arya stepped up on the small raised platform. "Come here."

He walked towards her and stopped before the dais. “I’m going to teach you how to dance,” she told him. He nodded, his breath catching in his chest. She stripped off her baggy shirt, revealing a black, lacey bra. He didn't move, afraid to break the moment. She looked down at him and put her hands on his shoulders so his face was level with her chest.

He lifted his head to look into her eyes. 

" _Breathe_ ," she told him, and pulled him so he stepped up onto the platform. He stood awkwardly as she rummaged through her bag, pulling out her iPod and placing it into the dock. She hit play and music filled the room.

_Hey love, what's going on in here?_

_You're ruthless like a stone_

"Take off your shirt." If Gendry thought about what he was doing he wouldn't do it. So he did it immediately. He was in his trousers, and Arya in her long black spandex. Her hair was pinned back from her face, but flowed down over her shoulders.

_Trying my best not to make this an insult_

_But blaming you I despair_

Arya stepped up beside him. She looked him over, and moved his arms so they were stretched out fully. Then she placed herself in front of him, mimicking his stance and grabbing his wrists. When her back pressed up against his chest, they both flinched. His body was warmer than hers. Not much, but enough. She sent goose pimples up and down his arms and he wasn’t sure if it was from the chill of her skin or the proximity to it.

_Promise the best is yet to come_

_Oh, please tell me the truth_

_When will the two of us be one?_

“Follow me,” she said quietly and in that moment, he would have walked off a cliff if she had asked him to. She rolled her body up and down his to the music, then wrapped his arms around her. She spun out and rolled back up to him.

_Hey love, I’ve been a sad affair_

_And restless for your charm_

She took his hands and wrapped one around her, to the small of her back. The other she held up in the air as she put her left hand at the nape of his neck. He tried to watch her feet at first, stepping awkwardly, and then gave in to the music. He followed her lead as they spun about the platform. She moved her hips back and forth. At her signal, he dipped her down and she smiled up at him.

_Crying for reasons, and try to believe_

_That I’m too young to fall in love_

Arya turned, back to him again, and put his hands against her waist. She moved her body to the rhythm, slowly and sensuously. Gendry was explicitly aware of every place they touched, sparks running through his blood. She drew her hands in front of her, as though she was pulling things down from the air, and turned back to him, meeting his eyes.

_But if you really want my life_

_You got to show me_

_Only me waiting in the dark for you_

She put her palms up and he mirrored her, placing his own palms against hers. He stared down into her gaze. Both of them forgot to move. Gendry took Arya’s hands and put them back at the nape of his neck. His fingers ran along her jaw before getting lost in her hair. She rubbed his hairline, one hand traveling to grasp his earlobe, and his eyes closed almost automatically. When he opened them again, they were dark, his pupils dilated. As the song ended, she pulled his head down to meet hers and kissed him. His lips opened against her pressure and he pulled her against him, tongue exploring her mouth. She made a small noise and he went further, lips against her neck and then her collarbone.

Arya reached up for support. Gendry took the hint. He hoisted her up to his hips, her legs wrapped around him. As he carried her back to the sofa in the back room, he fumbled at the clasp to her bra. “That tickles,” she responded, before bending her head to find his trapezius muscle and closing her teeth around it. He yelped and laid her down against the cushions. He stood above her, just looking her up and down for a moment. His smile spread across his face.

She took his hand and pulled him down. Arya unbuttoned Gendry's trousers and he wriggled out of them, trying to take hers off at the same time. It didn’t work. Arya laughed at his motions and raised her legs so she could take them off herself, stopping only to pull out a condom she had left in her pocket. She ripped the wrapper and slid it on him, her fingers deft and sure around the length of him. Gendry only had a moment to recognize that her pants matched her bra before those came off as well. She lay naked against the cushions, Gendry kissing every part he could reach. Their hands ran up and down each other’s bodies, exploring every inch. Even though he’d been studying her for weeks, her beauty still amazed him. He found a freckle on her left breast and sucked it. Arya moaned and arched up against him.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked, panting. “We can stop, we don’t have to.”

“Yes, _god_ , yes,” Arya responded, grabbing him. She ran her hands through his hair and her tongue along his jawline. Then she reached down and pulled him into her. " _Fuck_ ," she breathed.

He gasped. She was so small, so tight, that she gritted her teeth at the first movement. He saw this and kissed her gently, entering her slowly. “God, _Gendry_ ,” she cried, fingernails digging into his back. His balls tightened at the sound and he clenched to keep himself from spilling too soon. 

He kissed her and with one hand reached down to rub against her sex. She glistened with sweat and cried out at his touch. He moved the rough pad of his thumb up and down against her. “ _Please_ , darling,” he begged her, his fingers going up and down with him, “come, please come.” 

She didn’t answer him, but gasped, clenching her hands tighter around him. “I, I, I,” she cried, “yes, _please_ , God, right there.” Gendry pushed down harder and increased the speed of his fingers against her. She bit her lip and pushed up against him for the pressure. Finally, Gendry felt her clench harder around him. As the waves of pleasure washed through her, he couldn’t hold on any longer and let himself give in. His head arched back as he came inside of her, chest heaving. " _Arya_ ," he pleaded.

He collapsed down on her, his head nestled in the crook of her neck. She poked him in the side, rousing him. He had enough energy to dispose of the condom and fetch the blanket they had about before lying back down next to her. He moved her a bit so they both could fit (albeit snugly) on the long couch.

“You are amazing,” he told her, as they lay back against the pillow he’d placed at the head of the couch, “in the original sense of the word.”

Arya turned to look up at him questioningly. In response, he pulled her closer and she snuggled into his chest.

“Just looking at you fills me with amazement,” he explained. “That you’re here, with me, that someone like you even exists.”

“And you think that it’s easy for me?” Arya lifted herself up by an arm. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Gendry blushed. “You’re gorgeous, smart, _and_ an artist who can work with your hands.” She settled back down into his embrace. “Admittedly, you’re about four years old when it comes to dealing with your emotions, but you’re still top of the line.”

Gendry laughed at this. “You make me sound like a cut of meat,” he said, faking indignation.

“And what a good one you are too,” Arya grinned, playing with a hole in his underwear.

He kissed her firmly on the top of her head. They could talk about the other things later, he told himself. Not now. Now was too perfect for words.

 

“It’s happened,” Arya said.

Sansa turned from the pantry, where she was pulling out the cups for tea. “What’s happened?” she asked. Then, more loudly, “ARYA. IS THIS YOU TELLING ME WHAT I THINK YOU’RE TELLING ME?”

Arya grinned. “No, I’m telling you I’ve done the laundry. Yes, Sansa, Gendry and I are officially… something.”

Sansa squealed. “Oh thank God, I thought it would _never_ happen.”

Arya’s mouth quirked. “ _Thanks_ Sansa, I really appreciate the support.”

“You know what I mean,” Sansa replied, waving her hand. “I assume you took the initiative, of course.”

“Of course,” Arya nodded. “I made him dance with me.”

“Excellent plan, dear, no one could resist you after dancing with you,” Sansa smirked. “If you had played for the other team, half our ballet class would be absolutely smitten.”

Arya punched her in the arm. “Do you want to make jokes, or do you want to hear what happened?”

“Tell me everything,” Sansa pleaded, pouring the tea. “Leave out no detail.”

 

Gendry sat on the floor, sorting his tools into two piles: ‘good enough’ and ‘so dull possibly would not cut butter’. Arya walked through the room, running her hand down the lines of the marble and bronze sculptures. Her fingertips lingered on the hard stomach of the bronze _Hephaestus_. 

“How did you learn this stuff?” she asked him quietly, her voice traveling through the room. “You just, like, see these things? I see people all the time but I wouldn’t be able to tell you what the backs of their hands look like, or how they feel.”

Gendry motioned her over. She bent over to eye level, so she could lean in, and when he pulled, fall gently into his lap. "I studied people," he told her. "Like you do to see how they move--I just needed to see how they're made. The muscles, the bones. The stuff under the skin."

He ran his hand through her hair softly, then moved her about so her back was against his chest. His lap cradled her as he enveloped her in his arms. “And the gods,” Gendry said slowly, “they were supposed to be the best and the worst of men. So their bodies reflect what we imagine the ideal to be.”

He flipped her arm over so her palm was facing up and placed his fingertips where her wrist began. "Flexor retinaculum," he said. "You’ve got the pisiform, triquetrum, lunate, and scaphoid." He tapped each bone in turn, before drawing a line further up her arm, delicate as a snowflake. He enclosed her forearm in his grasp. "Radius, ulna. Biceps brachii." She shivered as he cupped her shoulder in his hand. “Deltoid,” he told her and felt himself growing hard as she rubbed her cheek against his stubble. "And my personal favorite," he continued despite the strain, "the suprasternal notch..." His fingers found the dip in her skin, just above her collarbone. 

"Mmm," she replied happily. He ran his fingers back and forth along the line in her skin, drawing squiggles above and below. "So you know your stuff," she supplied, turning so she spoke into his cheek. She slipped her hands underneath his shirt and slid them up his body. “What’s this,” she asked, huskily. 

“Pectorals,” he breathed, “and underneath, the, um, the ribs...”

“Hmm,” she smiled and moved her fingertips up and down. “I don’t feel any ribs here. Just muscle.”

Gendry swore. "Enough shop talk," he said, picking her up and carrying her to the back room. “I’ll show you muscle.”

Arya laughed. “If that’s the best line you’ve got you better think ag—“ 

Gendry pressed his mouth to hers, cutting off the sentence. “Quiet, you,” he commanded, laying her down on the couch. “I’ve got something else in mind.” 

 

“I hear you’ve been fortunate enough to have the lady take the matter upon herself, seeing as you never would have done it,” Jon said to Gendry as they stood in line for baguettes. 

“Quite,” Gendry grinned. “I had very little say in the matter.”

“You’re a lucky man,” Jon told him, punching him in the arm.

“Believe me,” Gendry replied, “I’m very aware. Arya is… well, she’s more than I could ever hope for.”

“She’s very fond of you as well,” Jon said. “You don’t know, but Sansa was in despair that she would never find someone she truly liked. Now, they talk about nothing else. Before she made her move, San and Dany were trying to decide how they would force you two to admit your feelings. I think the most recent plan was to lock you in a room together.”

Gendry turned bright red. “You’re joking, right?”

“Dead serious,” Jon confirmed. “There’s nothing they enjoy more than their plans.”

Gendry considered the threat he had narrowly avoided and breathed a sigh of relief. “I owe Arya more than I realized.”

Jon paused. “Have you, uh, decided about the future?” he asked. “The original problem… still stands, so to speak.”

Gendry shook his head. “She’s texted me and asked me to tea today,” he replied. “I suppose we’ll talk about it then.”

Jon grimaced. “I don’t envy you, friend.”

 

When he saw Arya duck in through the café doorway, Gendry jumped to his feet. He smiled broadly, waiting for her to see him. She did, and he was rewarded with a brilliant smile in his direction. Arya headed towards the table and let Gendry give her a peck on the lips before they both sat.

“Thanks for coming,” Arya started haltingly.

“Of course,” Gendry replied. “I’m always happy to, you know that.”

Arya played with the salt and pepper, arranging everything on the table in order of increasing height. She pulled her chair closer to the table and looked at Gendry. He folded his hands on the table in front of him, waiting patiently.

“You know that time when you were a wanker?” Arya asked.

“In the chip shop?” Arya nodded. “Alright, go on.”

“Well, after you ran off, I called the woman. The one who offered me the job,” she clarified. Gendry’s face was stoically blank. “And I, I um. I accepted her offer.” Arya stopped as the waitress walked up to the table.

“Grilled cheese sandwich,” Arya told her, “please. And a Coke, if you don’t mind.” The waitress turned to Gendry. He shook his head and waved her off.

He waited until the waitress had left before asking, “When do you leave?” His tone revealed nothing. 

Arya searched his face. “Two weeks.” He nodded and took a sip from his water. She couldn’t bear the silence any longer. “Come with me,” Arya blurted out. “We’ll find an apartment, you can sell your sculptures in the galleries…” She trailed off at Gendry shaking his head.

“Arya, we’ve only just got together a month ago,” he said sadly. “We don’t even know what this is yet. Moving in together would be a huge mistake.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “I can’t leave anyway. I’m, I’m learning so much. From Catelyn, and the others in my classes. Robb and Dany. Even from Jon!” He searched for words, gripping Arya’s hand. “I’ve never had this kind of support, the people who all are interesting in what you are doing and want to help you. It’s… well, it’s like a family.”

“I could be your family,” Arya protested plaintively, staring at their interlocked hands.

“Maybe someday,” Gendry agreed, reaching out and lifting her chin with her fingers. “But if I went with you now, we’d regret it. I’d start resenting you, or you’d hate that I was ruining your great experience.”

The waitress put Arya’s dish down on the table, causing the couple to let go of each other and lean back in their chairs. “Thanks,” Arya said to the woman. In reply, the waitress just grunted and turned away. Arya looked at the sandwich before her.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” Gendry asked, watching her.

Arya pushed the plate away. “Suddenly I’m not really hungry anymore.”

Gendry jiggled his leg under the table, causing his water glass to shake. “Look,” he said finally. “I’m not going to ask you not to go. That’d be stupid and selfish of me. You have to do this, I know. I’m sorry I was, well, that I was such a prat before. But I also think that… that long distance relationships, especially one as new as ours is, just don’t work. You’re young, and you’re going to be surrounded by loads of other young people. You’ll be with them every day, long hours, and I can’t expect you to wait on me to finish or, or move there. I don’t want to be an anchor for you and—“

Arya threw a ten pound note on the table and walked out of the café in the middle of Gendry’s sentence. He sat at the table for a few minutes, biting his lip and worrying the fringe on the edges of the tablecloth. Then he left.

Arya stepped in through the glass doors. She asked the receptionist for directions and he pointed her to the student exhibition galley upstairs. She walked past welded towers and wooden flames, marble universes and clay women, all majestic and brilliantly done. Finally she stopped in front of a white rectangular column, about a meter tall. On top of it was _the lady_. It was Arya, but the best version of Arya—the way she felt when she was dancing, the way she wished she could be seen.

Every muscle seemed vitally important to the statue as a whole, as though if you removed any single part the whole thing would crumble. Even the bra and shorts seemed tools for the body to use, parts of the greater whole. It, she, was magnificent. The plaque on the side read “ _Psyche (2013). G. Waters_.”

A small woman with long dark hair came up beside her. “Quite good,” she remarked. “The boy has a talent. People expect great things from him, I believe.”

“I’m not up on my mythology like I should be,” Arya murmured, transfixed by the sculpture. “Could you perhaps tell me who Psyche was?”

“She was a mortal,” the woman replied. “You know how it goes: the gods always want what they cannot have. The son of Aphrodite fell rather in love with her. The Cupid, he was. Anyone who is the son of the goddess of beauty and love has got demands put upon him. It was said that his chosen bride was even more beautiful than Aphrodite. So the god took her to a mansion and locked her away to be safe, showered her with gifts. But he could only come to her by night. His mother had laid a curse upon him and his woman. As soon as Psyche lifted her lantern to truly view her husband, he had to leave her forever. So Psyche searches but never finds. Her hands, so to speak, will always be empty of that which they once held.” The woman paused. Arya could feel her eyes looking her up and down. “You know it’s said that men put women on a pedestal—“

“So they can look up our skirts,” Arya finished, turning to face the woman, noticing the streak of white in her hair for the first time. “But the lady here isn’t wearing a skirt.”

“Nor, I think, is she really on a pedestal,” the woman remarked thoughtfully, hand on her chin. She winked at Arya. “I wish you luck, Psyche.” 

Arya smiled back, and walked out through the doorway.

 

She slammed the door of the pub open. The room was already so loud that only the people near the entrance heard the noise and turned to look. She scanned the booths and the bar, finally landing on a group of men clustered about a table in the back corner. There was Gendry, laughing at something Jon had just said. At his side, Robb was tossing back a shot to the cheers of the others.

Arya strode across the room and slammed her hand down on the table. All talk stopped. The men’s heads turned. When Gendry recognized who it was, he sprung to his feet quickly. “What’s wrong?” he asked, panicked. “Arya, _what’s happened_?”

“Listen to me, you giant prat,” she yelled, wagging her finger in front of his face. “You don’t get to decide that we’re not going to be together because I’m going to be a little farther away. You get to learn, _right now_ , that’s not how this is going to work. Yeah, it’ll be hard. So fucking what. Life is hard. That’s not a goddamn excuse. Or at least it’s not one that I’m going to accept.” She took a breath and put both hands on her hips. The room had fallen silent. “You don’t get to cast us as Eros and Psyche and make up a story that it ‘ _just wasn’t meant to be_ ’. Bollocks. Especially because, boy, you sure as hell are no Cupid.” She folded her arms. “Have I made myself clear?”

There was a pause and then Gendry took a step towards her, around the table. “Let me see if I’ve got all of this,” he said slowly. “I’m not allowed to change our relationship or make us into star crossed Greek lovers.” He took another step. Arya’s breath hitched in her chest and the hair on her arms stood up. “I’ve got just one question then.” Arya froze. Gendry stopped just in front of her and leaned down, his face centimeters from hers.

“May I kiss my beautiful and talented girlfriend?”

Arya lip twitched as she tried not to smile. It came across her face anyway. She nodded as Gendry took her into his arms and dipped her down, kissing her passionately. The pub broke out into cheers, applause, and wolf whistles. Robb leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head, and exchanged a grin with Jon.

Finally the two broke their lip lock. “Thank god you’re a fast learner,” she told him. “I was worried this might be difficult.”

 

“Robb,” Sansa called from the kitchen, “I can’t find your turkey baster!”

“Every damn time,” Robb muttered under his breath as he got up from his plush chair. As he walked to the kitchen through the doorway, he yelled, “It’s in the exact same drawer it was at Easter! You always do this!”

Jon laughed, his legs sprawled out over his own chair. “She makes a mess, but she and Robb are great cooks,” he told Arya. “They make a mean mashed potato.” The fire crackled and popped and the air was filled with the fresh smell of pine. They’d decorated the tree last night with lights and tinsel, handmade ornaments and Sansa’s earrings. A few presents were already wrapped and beneath the branches. The furniture was old, but sturdy, the chairs and sofa exquisitely comfortable.

Arya grinned and pulled Gendry’s arm closed around her. He stirred in his sleep. His head touched the top of the couch, his feet falling over the edge. Arya stroked the stubble on his cheek and his eyes slowly opened.

“Mmm?” he mumbled, instinctively holding her closer.

“You’re supposed to fall asleep _after_ we eat, loser,” she teased, turning in his embrace.

“I’m a maverick,” he said sleepily, looking down at her. “A rebel. I laugh in the face of danger.”

“Sure, hon,” Arya chuckled. “Anything you say.” He kissed her on the crown of her head and she snuggled closer. She rubbed her backside against his cock, which hardened beneath her. This prompted one of his eyes to spring open and him to bite warningly into a muscle in the back of her neck. Arya arched her back.

"What's that one?" she whispered.

" _Sternocleidomastoid_ ," he replied, "and it will have to wait until later. Unless you have a magical teleportation device."

"There's always the bathroom," she told him quietly.

"Well, in that case..."

The front door opened and closed.

“I brought wine,” Dany yelled, “and a strapping young man to eat all of your food!”

“ _Daenerys_ ,” said a deep voice, embarrassed. “I would not do such a thing. It would be unworthy of a guest.”

“Shh, Drogo,” she replied. “I want to cultivate an air of mystery about you. It’s all part of my master plan.”

“What plan?” Jon asked as Dany and Drogo entered the room, Drogo ducking his head to fit beneath the doorway. 

“Oh, that’s just something I’ve begun to say,” Dany grinned, brushing snow out of Drogo’s long hair and taking off her white coat.

“Drogo’s here?” Robb’s head popped out of the kitchen. “Mate! Thank god you’re here. Come and help me with this bird.” 

“Call me that _one_ more time, Robb, I swear,” Sansa’s disembodied voice snapped. The tall man laughed and followed Robb dutifully into the room, ducking again.

Dany threw her hands up in dramatic exasperation. “Not even here two minutes and you’re already stealing my boyfriend.” She spotted Arya and Gendry on the couch and pulled Arya up to a sitting position. Gendry groaned and put his arms over his eyes.

“Hush, you,” Dany commanded. “Damn lovebirds, monopolizing each other all the time. When do you have to go back, Arya? Any chance you’ll let me take you around town? We can do some shopping and I can take some lovely photos of you.”

“I’ve only got a week,” Arya said apologetically, stealing a glance at Gendry.

“And you two, uh, you’re doing… alright, yeah?” Dany asked hesitantly, running her hand through her hair.

“We get by,” Arya allowed, gazing at Gendry and stroking his cheek fondly. He smiled back up at her.

“Going to visit her in a month,” Gendry added. “I get to see my girl up on the big stage. Aaand warn all those cheeky dance boys away from her.”

“ _Gendry_ ,” Arya said, laughing.

“Dinner is ready,” Sansa announced, carrying in dishes.

Jon sprang to his feet. “Fantastic, I’m starved,” he wailed, taking the plates out of her hands and placing them on the table.

“You ungrateful lout,” Sansa scolded. “You don't think I know what I'm doing?”

Robb and Drogo brought in more plates and the turkey as a whole. Gendry and Arya sat next to each other, Arya’s hand rubbing his leg under the table. Dany found the corkscrew and opened the wine, pouring some into each glass. Finally, everyone was seated.

“I’ll start,” Sansa smiled. “Thank you Lord, for the food and friends we have here tonight. This year has been… full. And I know that I’ll be with you beautiful people for years to come. Which fills me with joy. Because I love you all dearly.” Robb cleared his throat. Sansa made a face at him. “And now for the delicious food,” she finished.

“ _AMEN_ ,” Robb and Jon said in unison. Everyone laughed.

Gendry put his hand on Arya’s leg. She turned towards him.

“Happy Christmas, darling,” he whispered in her ear, giving her a peck on the cheek.

“And to many more,” she replied, rubbing her thumb in circles on his hand.


End file.
